


Untouchables

by pinkbubblesgo (lavatorylovemachine)



Series: Jukebox Stories [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: 2010s, Bisexual Male Character, Catalan character, Catalonian Referendum, Dialogue Heavy, Explicit Language, Gay Male Character, Historical References, M/M, Multilingual Character, Musical References, Musicians, Period-typical Biphobia, Political References, Politics, Pre-Trump, Punk Rock, Sexual Content, Trump era, antifa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-08-27 01:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8383177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavatorylovemachine/pseuds/pinkbubblesgo
Summary: It's 2016 when Sergi Nadal, a Catalan metal/punk drummer, meets Matty Collins, a pop punk singer from the other side of the pond. Will their apparently huge differences get in the way of each other?





	1. Los Violetas

**Author's Note:**

> The MC here first appeared in my fanfic "Heaven's Hung in Black." He's a lot older in this story so some things have changed in regards of characterization.
> 
> Title inspired by Generation X's song.

 

> _"Our people were killed just for being Catalans. Were put in jail and were always seen as second class citizens just because they were Catalans. There is a big propaganda machine spreading lies constructed from inside a dark office, sons of fascist soldiers ironically using the title ‘National Socialist’ to define Catalans, trying to hide the truth. An old game. Again distorting history. Making executioners of the victims and victims of the executioners."_ - Àngel Soro,   **Catalonia Calling: This has nothing to do with nationalism.**
> 
>  
> 
> _"It will come with a rush and a roar and a shudder. It will come howling and laughing and shrieking and moaning. It will come so fast you can’t help yourself you will stretch out your arms to embrace it. You will feel it before it comes and you will tense yourself for acceptance and the earth which is your eternal bed will tremble at the moment of your union."_ - Dalton Trumbo, **Johnny Got His Gun**
> 
>  
> 
> _What is love?_  
>  _Baby don't hurt me_  
>  _Don't hurt me_  
>  _No more_
> 
> \- **"What is Love"** by Haddaway

 

 

 

As the train moved forward in the middle of the night, Sergi fell into that odd state between nodding off and staying a little awake. His mind was a mixture of memories and dreams, as it often happened in these situations, helped by one of his favorite songs playing somewhere near.

He had heard it first when he was twenty-four, but in a strange way, probably because of the lyrics, it was bringing him backwards.

Sergi was fifteen. It was his birthday party and he was drinking with his friends at the rooftop of his house. He couldn’t remember for how long had they had been there, but everyone was suddenly daring each other to make heart-string confessions they promised to take to the grave. " _Sóc violeta_!" Sergi shouted happily, his voice slurred by the alcohol. When his friends gave him confused glances, he added that he loved penises. A lot, judging by the number of times he shouted it.

In the middle of laughter, come on's and groans of disapproval, his father's voice interrupted, in his still intact New York accent:

"Sergi, come here!"

He was a robust man, with long hair and a heavy beard. Even though he was already in his forties, he still wore a denim jacket with eighties band patches on the back.

Sergi followed him inside the house, where his mother was ranting about how this was not the way a mom was supposed to find out his son was gay and that he wasn’t raised to be afraid of his parents. Sergi knew they didn't care about something like that as long as he was a good person, so he simply nodded and let his mother speak. _Collons, does she ever shut up?_ , he thought, and just then his father interrupted, telling her that he and his son needed some time alone.

Seconds later they were inside the married bedroom, with Sergi's mother's purchased painting and his father's vinyl collection.

"Your mother's right, you know," the man said, closing the door. "You should have been more open with us. For how long have you known?"

"Since I was little," Sergi slurred. He had sat down on the bed and was trying to keep eye contact with his father even though his head was spinning from the liquor. He remembered he had discovered his first crush in that same very room, through an Iron Maiden VHS tape. Bruce Dickinson, of course...

"Alright. That's not what I want to talk to you about anyway."

"It's not?" Sergi raised his eyebrows.

His father shook his head and touched his chin. The dark green eyes and black hair were the traits Sergi got from him, while his olive skin and Greek nose were all his mother's.

"I didn’t like that you used that word," his father said. " _Violeta_."

"But it's what I am, isn't it? And they can't jail me for being one anymore."

"No, but a lot of men were jailed and you know it. Remember that your grandfather was beaten to that word many times.”

Sergi didn't reply, just looked at his father.

"You should talk to him, Sergi. It'll do you good."

"He's gonna be proud of me," Sergi said with a grin.

His father smiled. "Yeah, I guess he will. Come here, son, let me give you a hug."

"Dad…"

"What, you think you’re too old to hug your father? Come here."

Sergi obliged, his father immediately embracing him.

"We're all proud of you," he patted his head. "You're a little bit of a trouble maker but you're a good kid. Keep being that way, okay?"

"Uh, okay," Sergi’s chuckled turned hoarse and silly because of the beer, but his father was still smiling when the hug broke.

"Go, son, enjoy your birthday. And don’t drink too much."

"I won't!"

Present-day Sergi frowned, still with his eyes closed. Something was wrong. With a shake of his head he opened his eyes and found the source of the song: a young girl was holding a tablet whose screen showed a boyband singing in a live performance. _I need excitement, oh I need it bad / And it's the best I've ever had._

“Do you know what headphones are?” Sergi asked, interrupting her dreaminess as she watched the video. “You know, those things that go in your ears—“

“It’s on low volume…” the girl frowned.

“I was asleep and I could hear it…”

The song ended and the girl hit the replay button, lowering the volume by one point. Sergi sighed, took out his own headphones and plugged them to his phone. After several taps on the screen he found it: “Teenage Kicks”, the fifth song on his playlist.

 

Sergi rang on the building bell and waited. While he did so, his phone played the WhatsApp tune. It was Ariadna, an old friend from Barcelona.

>Did you make it to London? [it said in Catalan]

>Yeah, 15 minutes ago. I'm at the building [Sergi replied]

>Great. Good luck, Sergi! <3

> <3

Once he had put the phone back in his pocket, he spotted a group of teenagers coming his way, looking about sixteen years old. They pointed at his FC Barcelona-themed bag and laughed.

“Hey, fucking Spanish!” one of them shouted as they came closer. “Here for a job?”

“I already found a job, you cuntnozzler!”

The boys looked at each other, sniggered, and walked past Sergi, who rang on the bell again.

“Hello?” a male voice answered.

“Uh, yeah, I’m here for the ad.”

“Drummer?”

“Yeah.”

“Come in.”

The front door made a buzzing sound and opened, and Sergi followed through. While he went up the humid and mildew-covered stories, he found a piece of paper stuck to one of the apartments. It said: “Polish vermin, piss off”. Sergi’s eyebrows arched and he threw the paper away. He reached for the apartment number the address stated and found the door was already opened.

Two young men sat on a couch, one with a guitar plugged in to a laptop and the other with said laptop on his lap. They both had short, spiky hair (blonde and black), wore black sleeveless t-shirts and the brunette guitarist had his armpit hair dyed pink.

“Serjay?” the blonde one said, looking up.

“Sergi, yeah.”

“Come in.”

Sergi walked into the apartment and closed the door behind him.

“I’m Nigel, singer and bassist” the blonde boy said and put the guitar down to shake hands with Sergi. “This is Ashley, my boyfriend, on the guitar”, he gestured towards the brunette boy.

“Marking territory, aren’t we?” Ashley said and chuckled. He turned to Sergi and shook his hand. “Just call me Ash, I fucking hate my name.”

“Nice to meet you two,” Sergi said, sat on the couch opposite them and put his bag next to him. He started ruffling his short hair, which still felt strange between his fingers.

“Sorry about marking territory,” Nigel said. “I have to do it beforehand." He looked at Sergi. "Another drummer flirted with Ash.”

“Ah.” Sergi glanced at Ashley and could see why: extremely short hair, blue eyes, rough face.

“You really took the train all the way over from Spain?” Ashley asked, interrupting Sergi's thoughts.

“From Barcelona, yes.”

He touched his hair again.

“How many years of drumming?”

“Since I was thirteen.”

“Nice! Always punk drumming?”

“Metal drumming, actually. I was always in metal bands and decided to switch to punk recently.”

Nigel and Ashley were smirking.

“Ah, that’s why you keep touching your hair,” Ashley said and smirked. “It used to be long?”

“Down to here," Sergi touched his elbows.

“Blimey. You like punk, though, do you?” Nigel said.

“Yeah, Cock Sparrer, Discharge, all the good stuff. I always liked both metal and punk."

“Ah, nice!” Nigel said. “And why the switch from metal to punk?”

Sergi smiled and huffed. “Because me and my ex got beaten up at an Overkill show.”

“Where?” Ashley asked.

"Who's Overkill?" Nigel asked at the same time.

"It's this thrash band from Jersey..." Sergi looked at Nigel and then at Ashley. "It was in Madrid."

"They aren't one of those national socialist buffoons, aren't they?" Nigel said.

"Far from it," Sergi said. He was grimacing as he remembered the incident. "I don't know, we never thought it could happen. They were old guys, the ones who beat us up."

Nigel leaned back on the couch. "Of course," he said, "but don't worry, mate, they'll die off soon." They all chuckled.

“And you’ve come to the right genre," Ashley added. "What's your name again? Ser…”

“Sergi.”

“Right, Ser-gee. We’re gonna have to make up a nickname for you. Anyway. You’ve come to the right genre. The EDL types would die rather than play oi.”

Sergi laid on the couch, his long legs hanging off the edge.

“ _The EDL took my baby away,_ ” he sang, _“they took him away, away from me…_ ”

The other two smiled at him.

“So you like queercore too.." Ashley said.

“Eh…” Sergi made a face and chuckled nervously. “To be honest, they aren’t that good. I mean, they're okay but I prefer the Oi! and crust bands.”

The two English boy burst into laughter.

“Yeah, us too. We just put those bands in the ad to make sure we're all fairies here.”

“So that's the band's policy?” Sergi asked. "Everyone must be gay?"

“Yeah, but we're open for bi guys”, Ashley answered, “whatever."

Nigel looked at his boyfriend. "You're always open anyway," he said, and the two snorted. Then they smiled at each other, a teasing yet understanding look on their faces.

“So you really really like English punk?” Nigel asked, back to Sergi.

The Catalan boy's face lightened up as he nodded. “Cock Sparrer, Doom, The Undertones… miles better than American punk.”

Nigel and Ashley grinned.

“Awesome,” Nigel said. “But you must be half-American or something. Your English is nice.”

“Yeah, I am, on my dad’s part. But I was born in Catalonia.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

Sergi looked to his left for the first time: A drum set, a microphone and a bass stood there.

“Yeah, we record everything here,” Ashley said. “It gives that old school sound.”

“We should rehearse now,” Nigel said and smiled at Sergi. “See how our metal drummer plays.”

“Okay,” Sergi said as they all got up and walked to where the instruments where. “Which song?”

“How about Doom’s ‘War Crimes’?” Nigel suggested.

“Sure”, Sergi said as he sat at the drum set. He swirled the drumsticks between his fingers before hitting the snares.


	2. Just a Kid

 

Matty took a leap and struck the chords he knew so well, the ones he had written with Charlie months ago. He beamed at the audience, a mob of young, happy faces with glowing cellphone lights, and took the microphone for the last verse:

_Feel like yesterday, these memories I can't replace_

_Wishes and the dreams I decided to chase_

_Baltimore sky, I’ll take you with me_

_Will miss you so much, girl, you were so good to me_

_So take a look inside and see what you carry with you_

_Not only pictures but words too_

The final notes came in, which Matty played like with enviable enthusiasm. He turned around and watched Joey hit the last snares on the drums. The screams from the audience made Matty face them again.

“Alright, that was our last song!”

A collective groan was heard.

“Our second to last song!”

The crowd cheered at Matty’s announcement. He smiled at them. “This one’s a cover. From our younger years..." He panted. "Hope you remember it!”

He gestured Joey at the back and the song started with a small snare drum and guitar picks.

_I wake up every evening_

_With a big smile on my face_

_And it never feels out of place_

_And you're still probably working_

_At a nine to five pace_

_I wonder how bad that tastes_

“The fuck is this,” Sergi commented at the back, near the club’s entrance.

“It sounds two-thousand… two thousand eight-ish, doesn’t it?” Nigel shouted.

“I told you both,” Ashley said, “don’t enter any show that says ‘Punk show’ at the front. Americans know bloody fuck about punk”.

“At least this one’s better than their originals,” Nigel said.

People chanted the chorus with an energy that made Sergi raised an eyebrow. But his eyes quickly darted towards Matty again and he bit his lips. He had been watching Matty and his blue hair for a while and decided he was reason enough to stay at the show. Somewhere far from his daydreaming, his bandmates kept complaining about the music.

“This was awesome, thank you!” Matty said once the song was over. The crowd cheered. “You guys are a great crowd! Stick around to buy our merch!”

As the band started unplugging their instruments, the club’s lights returned to normal and people gathered in small groups to chat. Nigel and his band stayed at the back and bought drinks for themselves.

“It’s a miracle they sell drinks here at all,” Nigel said after sipping some of his rum.

“Yeah, I’m starting to feel like a pedophile priest in this bloody club,” Ashley followed.

Sergi stared at the merchandise table at the left of the room, where Matty took selfies with the fans (he either grinned or made silly faces in each picture) while the others signed records and sold t-shirts. Occasionally he would stop the selfies and go help himself a slice of pizza from the table.

"What are you looking at, Sid?"

"You like the blue one?"

"Yeah."

"Nice taste."

Sergi turned around to buy another beer. He was starting to regret not buying the Trooper Red 'N' Black.

"He's checking you out, mate," Ashley said.

"What?"

Sergi turned around again, just in time to catch Matty staring at him with wide, hazel eyes before he looked the other way and covered his mouth with his knuckles. He started biting on his nails.

"Nice one, Sid," Nigel said and nudged Sergi with his own shoulder. Sergi smiled like a child, feeling quite proud of himself. "Are you going in?"

"Yeah."

"What if he's straight?" Ashley pointed out.

Nigel tilted his head, studying Matty. "I don't think so. Arse’s too nice to be straight".

Laughter followed the last sentence, except for Sergi, who took a step forward and stared towards the table slowly, as if he was president of the class formed by the kids who attended the show. He grabbed a slice of pizza and bit on it.

"Yummy," he said, swallowed and looked at Matty.

"What's that on your t-shirt?" a guy next to Matty asked Sergi.

"Discharge's new album."

"What's Discharge?"

"A punk band. Jesus…"

Sergi smirked, he was enjoying it too much. But he needed something as to not overstate his welcome.

"How much for your album?"

"Ten bucks."

"Okay, I'll buy it. Could you sign it, please?"

Charlie picked a copy from a pile, scribbled his signature and gave it to Joey, who did the same. When it was Matty's turn, he could hardly contain a tiny smile. He gave Sergi the CD and received the money with shaky fingers.

"Thanks," Sergi said and returned with his bandmates. He saved the CD in his bagpack.

"I thought you were going in, Sid," Nigel said.

"Hang on. I need to catch him alone."

The three of them stood there watching the other band, like a vigilance platoon. After a while, Matty got up and quickly headed somewhere else, and Sergi followed.

He found him entering the restroom, walked in behind him and picked the middle stall. He tried to urinate and with relief felt he was succeeding as he glanced at Matty picking the stall next to him and unzipping his tight pants.

"Hey, singer," Sergi said, turning his head. The liquid sound joined his voice.

"Oh, hi. Hi again," Matty forced a chuckle and ended up smiling nervously. He stared directly at the white marble wall.

"My friend Nigel says you were watching me,” Sergi continued, also facing the wall. “And he's not much of a liar."

"I'm not-- I wasn't watching you,” Matty turned his head to a side and zipped his pants, realizing at the very same moment that he was trying hard not to take a glance down Sergi’s waist.

"It's cool if you're straight. You can pretend this conversation never happened." Sergi went to wash his hands in one of the sinks and Matty followed, his mouth dry and his heart beating faster. “Or you can have a drink with me and my friends.”

“Uh… A drink sounds nice.”

They left the bathroom before Matty had washed his hands, but he said nothing, walking shyly behind Sergi as they reached the bar. _Ridiculous_ , he thought, how he was always on the spotlight but a situation like that one made him sweat and tremble.

"Hi, smurf," Nigel greeted, causing himself and Ashley to snicker.

"Be nice, guys," Sergi said as he and Matty sat on adjacent stools. He turned to Matty, on his right. "Seriously, why blue?"

Matty touched his hair before answering. "For fun.” He turned his head to look at the three of them. “You guys don't look--"

"Like we go to these shows?" Nigel completed. "You're right, we don't."

"We're real punks," Ashley said.

“So, elitists.”

“Elitists?” Ashley faked shock. “We’re from the north, we can’t be elitists!”

Matty laughed only after the group had.

"What's your poison, smurf?" Ashley asked.

“Uh… vodka.”

He turned to the bartender and asked her for the drink.

“What’s your name?” Nigel asked Matty.

"Matty."

"Matty… that's your real name?"

"Yeah."

Nigel’s eyebrows arched as he nodded.

"No worse than Ashley..." Ashley said. "That's me."

"Nice to meet you."

"I'm Sergi."

Matty glanced at Sergi, studying him. "Are you Mexican-American?"

"Mexican-American… You guys are so funny. I’m Catalan. That’s Barcelona. _Catalunya lliure!!!_ "

"Shut up, Sid," Nigel said. "You're pissed."

"You sound very American," Matty pointed out.

"Yeah, my dad is American."

Ashley called the bartender and ordered vodka for everyone. He leaned on the bar, looking at Matty.

"Are you old enough to drink, Matty?"

Matty chuckled. "I'm twenty-three."

"Fuck off,” Sergi laughed. “You look nineteen or something.”

“Thanks,” Matty smiled proudly. "And I didn't need surgery."

The three foreign punks stared at him, mouths gaped.

"Was that a joke?" Nigel said.

"Uh..." Matty could feel his face blushing. The English boy cackled.

"Ah, nevermind, I'm not very funny either."

They stayed quiet as they drank. Nigel and Ashley looked at the stage longingly.

"Do you mind if we use your instruments, Matty?" Nigel asked.

Matty drew out a tiny smile. "Uh… you’re not going to smash them, aren’t you?"

"No, we just need to rehearse a bit for tomorrow."

"Oh… okay. I'll text my friends."

Matty took out his phone and typed at the speed of light. The device beeped and he looked up. "It's cool, you can use them," he said.

"Awesome," Nigel said.

Both English boys took the stage and tuned the bass and guitar before playing a song Sergi knew too well.

" _I'm am the Antichrist_ ," he sang, shaking his head, " _I'm am an Anarchist..._ "

Matty watched him with a smile. "You really are a true punk.”

"And you're not," Sergi smirked.

"Yeah… well, I've loved pop punk all my life. The Sex Pistols are alright, I just love Simple Plan way more…"

"That's... That's insane." Sergi had a hand over his chin. "Absolute blasphemy."

Matty smiled, childlike. "Don't you like Simple Plan?"

"I don't know, pop punk didn't do that well in Europe. I didn't even recognize the song you played, the last one."

"Ah. It was from The All-American Rejects."

Sergi frowned. "I think I've heard of them."

"Come on, you must have liked some pop punk. Back in the day, I mean."

"I liked Green Day. The first albums."

"Yeah, Dookie was awesome."

They looked at each other as they finished their drinks.

"Why do they call you Sid?"

"I've got a Sid Vicious tattoo. It's dumb--"

"Where?"

Sergi lift up his t-shirt, revealing a black tattoo of Sid Vicious' face on his chest.

"I got it when I was fifteen. My mom hit the fucking ceiling."

"He looks cute," Matty said.

"So gay," Sergi said as he lowered his t-shirt and shook his head.

"I'm…” Matty took a deep breath. “I’m bi, actually… And now you're gonna leave."

"I won't leave. Some of my best friends are bi."

Matty let out a chuckle. "Right..."

Their attention was diverted towards the stage, where a Ramones song was being played. Some people had gathered around to hear it.

"What's the name of your band?" Matty asked.

Sergi put on a serious face before answering, "White Genocide."

Matty went pale and his eyes widened.

"I'm kidding," Sergi chuckled. "That's actually the name of one of our songs. We're called Vagrancy."

Now the blue-haired looked more confused.

"For a second I thought--" he started.

"Relax. We just want to piss off the alt-right."

"What if someone takes it seriously?"

"We beat them up."

"You're antifa?"

"I wish. They hadn't let me into their group yet."

Matty blinked, making Sergi laugh again. They went quiet, watching the other two play the Ramones.

"Do you guys play hardcore?" Matty asked.

Sergi shook his head. "Oi."

"What."

Sergi burst out laughing. "No, we play oi. It's a type of punk, very British." He paused, with Matty paying all the attention. "Oi revival, actually. No one has played this stuff in ages."

"Ah. Are you the singer or the drummer?"

"Drummer."

Sergi turned on the bar and ordered more vodka. With the corner of his eye he looked at Matty, the sky blue hair shinning in the dark, the pale green eyes staring at the stage. Sergi took his drink and put his back to the bar as he drank.

"I didn't know people still played pop punk," he said.

"We want to revive it," Matty said with a smile. "Us and other bands."

"I don't know who's crazier, you or me."

Matty was grinning all of a sudden.

"Can you say something in Spanish?"

"Eh… I don't speak Spanish anymore".

"Why not?"

"Because I'm pro... no, nevermind. You wouldn't get it."

Sergi was having a field day with Matty's nervous fidgeting and faces. He glanced at him from the bottom of his Converse shoes and blue hair.

_"Ets massa bo, ho saps?"_

"What?"

"It means you're too hot," Sergi said, keeping his cool. He finished his drink in one shot.

Matty breathed with difficulty. "Was that Spanish?" he said with a little voice. He cleared his throat but still couldn't find any courage.

"No, it's Catalan," Sergi said.

“Oh. Sorry," Matty scratched the back of his head. "Thanks. You... You look good too."

"Look good?" Sergi gazed into the other boy and snorted. “Alright, from one to ten,” Sergi smirked, “how much do you give me?”

“What?” Matty chuckled, taken aback.

“You know, do like those rate-my-photo sites… how much do you give me?”

“Ten.”

Matty had answered too quickly, so Sergi leaned over to kiss him. But Matty shoved him away, suddenly scared.

"Not here. Are you crazy?"

"Why not? Are you scared these kids won't like you anymore?"

"Wouldn't you be?"

"Let's go to the restroom, then."

"O-okay."

"Calm down. You want another drink?"

"No, thanks," he chuckled lightly, "I'm already too dizzy for my taste."

Sergi left his and Matty's empty glasses on the bar and huffed. "Right... I'm going in first and you go after like two minutes, okay? That way no one will suspect."

Matty nodded. His whole body was shaking.

 

 

 

The restroom was conveniently empty. Sergi pulled Matty by the waist and kissed him, the sole touch sending shivers down their bodies. It wasn’t long until they didn’t care if someone came in or not and they deepened the kiss. Sergi thought, as he pulled the other closer, _damn this Matty is hot_ ; and Matty thought, _Oh God oh god oh god please don’t fuck it up Matty… but he’s so…_ his hands travelled down Sergi’s zipper… _perfect_.

Sergi pulled out. “What are you doing?”

“I was just...” Matty replied, now only watching Sergi’s bulge.

“You think I’m a common whore?”

“I’m sorry!”

Sergi laughed loudly. “I'm just messing with you! I don’t really care… I mean, if you wanna do it here.”

“Do it?”

“Yeah. Don't be a teaser..."

“Uuuhhh....” Matty scratched his head and started shaking again.

“You’re a gay-virgin?” Sergi asked him.

“Technically, yeah...”

“Technically?” Sergi chuckled, his eyebrows going up.

“I’ve only done oral.”

Sergi rolled his eyes and said, “Oh, this will be fun.”

In that moment a teenage boy came in and wave at Matty.

“Hi,” the singer said, waving back, and watched him occupy one of the stalls.

He and Sergi pretended they were washing their hands as they waited for the intruder to leave. When he finally did, Sergi suggested, “How about my place?”

“You live here?”

"In the bathroom? No, I live in New York."

 _Asshole_ , Matty thought and smiled coyly.

“Yeah, I’m taking your jerbs.” Sergi continued. He looked into Matty's pale green eyes. “Listen, if you’re not cool with something we won’t do it, okay?”

The younger boy nodded. “How do we get there?”

"I've got a car."

 

Matty woke up with the sunlight. He rubbed his eyelids, and stretched his arms, accidentally hitting Sergi on the head. However, the latter still slept. He was laying on his stomach, naked, and it was only now that Matty could see another tattoo, this one on his back. Squinting, he could barely recalled it was the crest of a soccer team.

His body ached, but when he recalled the night before he could only smile.

Matty heard footsteps on the corridor and realized he wanted to urinate at the same time. He got out of Serg’s room in his underwear, frantically looking for the bathroom. On his way, he bumped into someone who reeked of talcum and wore a robe.

"Good morning," he said with a spanish accent.

It was an old man, seemingly in his eighties, but with vitality that showed in his posture and in the twinkle of his black eyes.

"Sorry, sir… I'm really sorry."

"Don't worry. You spent the night with Sergi, I take it?"

Matty nodded as he looked down. "I'm sorry-" he started apologized again, but the old man interrupted him:

"I'll make breakfast for the both of you. Don't worry."

Matty nodded, panic still not leaving his body, and found the bathroom behind the space left by the old man.

He got inside, spotted towels and a bathrobe hanging at the left and closed the door. He had turned the shower on when he heard knocks on the door.

"Matty?" Sergi called.

"I'm gonna shower!" Matty said.

"Me too! Let me in!"

After a few seconds of thoughts, Matty opened the door. Sergi was completely naked, the Sid Vicious tattoo shinning proud.

“He’s gonna see us!” Matty whispered.

“Who?”

“The old man.”

“It’s my grandpa. He's cool.”

“What?"

“I’ll explain later,” Sergi said with urgency. “Come on, let me in.”

Matty gazed at the drummer. A moment later they kissed and rushed inside.

 

 

When they were done showering, they got dressed and went to the dinner table, where the old man was laying plates of stick-shaped fried dough. One of them, the most fried, was dipped into a a cup of hot chocolate.

"Good morning, boys," the old man said as they sat at the table, next to each other. " _Sergi, Has dormit be?_ "

" _Si, avi._ "

Matty put the pastry in his mouth and ate. "What's this?" he asked.

" _Churros con chocolate_ ," the old man said. "Do you like it?"

Matty nodded and started feeling uncomfortable as he noticed the old man's gaze. It was a gentle look, but still made him fidget in his seat.

"Don't worry about my grandpa," Sergi said. "He's gay too, so it's cool."

"What?" Matty said. He looked at the man again. “Really?”

"As gay as a rainbow," Sergi's grandfather said with a smile.

They ate for a while, then Matty asked, "For how long have you been in America, sir?"

"Nineteen fifty-two."

"Wow… Never thought of going back to Spain?" Matty's cheeks blushed quickly. "Not that I want to kick you out--"

Sergi was snickering. "You're such an American PC cunt…”

"Sergi," the old man warned.

"Sorry."

"Anyhow..."  He looked at Matty again. "I was too scared of Franco's supporters by the time Sergi's father was all grown up."

"Franco?" Matty echoed with a heavy accent. "Generalissimo?"

"You know about him?"

"Only that they called him Generalissimo."

"His supporters did, yes. I escaped prison and came here."

"Wow."

"And how come you had Sergi's dad? Sorry for the intrusive question, sir."

"It's alright. I wanted a kid so I got married. To a lesbian." He chuckled. "It was all arranged. But we raised Sergi's father together. Best years of my life."

Sergi listened but kept on eating the churros. Matty started looking around.

"She passed away," Sergi's grandfather said. "Last year."

"Oh," Matty said. "Sorry."

A phone beeped and Matty nearly jumped on his chair as he put a hand down his pocket.

"Oh shit," he muttered, looking at the screen. "I have to go."

"Is it your mom?" Sergi asked with a smirk.

"You live with your grandpa!"

"Alright, calm your tits! You're acting as if your mom's gonna ground you for sleeping with another guy."

Matty covered his face with his hands. "She can do much worse than grounding me". He put the phone back in his pocket and stood up. "She's a Republican, Trump-loving---"

"Sergi will help you," Sergi's grandfather intervened. "Right, Sergi?"

"Fine," Sergi said and stood up as well. "I'll drive you. Tell her you went to a party and slept at someone's house. Is she sure you're straight?"

"Yeah."

"Then she'll keep thinking it. Let's go."

"Ok…" Matty turned to Sergi's grandfather. "Bye, Mr…"

"Nadal", the old man said with a smile.

 

Sergi parked his grandfather's old car feet away from Matty’s home. They were in a low-middle class neighborhood in Midtown, with houses looking so peaceful Sergi thought everyone had died. It was summer and the sun burned their skins.

Matty got out of the car and shut the door. He walked over to the sidewalk and said:

“So, uh… See ya?”

“Sure."

Sergi chuckled to himself as he drove off, not even wanting to see Matty’s reaction.


	3. Love is for Losers

Sergi tried to sleep by shutting his eyes tight and pulling the old pillow, almost a cotton piece by now, over his head.

" _Me cago en sus muertos…_ " he muttered. Then, louder, "Shut up already!"

Ashley and Nigel snickered from the other room.

"Yeah, love, just like that…" Nigel said before bursting into high-pitched cackling again.

Defeated, Sergi picked his big headphones from the seat and put them on, choosing a random song on his phone. He laid down again and started reading old Whatsapp messages out of boredom.

_Two months ago_

_Andi 19:46_

_Wait for me at the record store, love._

 

_Me 19:47_

_I'm 5 minutes away [heart emoji]._

 

_A month ago_

_Andi 00:27_

_Still thinking about it?_

 

_Me 00:27_

_Yeah._

 

_Andi 00:29_

_Sergi, what's wrong?_

 

_Me 00:32_

_Nothing, I'm fine._

 

_Andi 00:33_

_You've been acting weird lately._

 

_Me 00:35_

_I'm always weird [tongue emoji]_

 

_Andi 00:40_

_Something's wrong. I know you._

 

_Me 00:41_

_I can go over there and make you forget about it [wink emoji]_

 

_Andi 00:42_

_Always buying me with sex, aren't you? [tongue emoji]_

 

_2 weeks ago_

_04:47 AM_

_Andi_

_Hey_

_I'm drunk I molts you_

_miss u_

_I still love u_

_Ich liebe dich_  

Sergi put the phone away, wanting to throw it out the van's window instead. He couldn't explain to himself why he still saved Andi's messages. The song on his device was "Farewell" by Avantasia, which he quickly changed to something faster, unsentimental, cold in all its fury.

He stared at the light-bolb above while "Scream Suffer Die" by Driller Killer played. When the light started bliding him he looked at his phone again and with rapid finger movements deleted all his conversations with Andi, sighing.

 

 

Matty's mother opened the door after he had rung the bell twice. She was wearing her kitchen apron and had her light blonde hair covered by a Make America Great Again hat.

"Matty!" she exclaimed before throwing her arms at him, holding him tight. "Where in Heaven's name have you been?" She broke apart and kissed his son's cheek.

"I was at Charlie's, ma, I told you."

She shook her head. "You never drink that much, sweetie."

He entered the house, a typical one-story, still nice house for people who refuse to accept they aren't rich anymore.

"Yeah, sorry, mom…" Matty tried to smile and gulped instead. "The show was so great we got too excited. I don't even remember falling asleep."

The lady walked towards the kitchen, her son following her.

"Did you eat well?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Matty."

"We had burritos." He smiled like a child. "What? Burritos have vitamins."

The woman shook her head as she huffed, flipped the pancake on the frying pan and grabbed a plate nearby.

"Eat, sweetie, eat."

Matty sat at the dinning table. He was cutting up the pancake when he spotted his father walking into the kitchen. The medium-sized old man shot him a disapproving look. His pale green eyes were strangle icy.

"A bit late to come home, son."

"Sorry, dad."

"You know what you need, sweetie?" Matty's mom said, excited. She had just served orange juice for her husband. "A new girlfriend."

"Uh..." the boy uttered.

"You were never late when Monica was around," his father commented casually, as if talking about air conditioning.

"Because she was a controlling freak, dad."

The man made a grunt as his wife smiled.

"And don't you think you need a little control, Matty?" she asked.

Matty didn't answer. He kept on cutting up a slice of pancake as his father picked the newspaper from the table.

"Didn't you meet anyone at the show?" Her mother insisted as she sat at the table with the rest of the family. Without the kitchen gloves, her hands looked cold and frayed.

Matty had to stuff himself with more pancake to avoid smiling. As he shook his head, he tried to think of anyone but Sergi, failing. The white skin grinding against the darker one, the way the Catalan boy pulled on his blue hair, the heat of the night before...

Matty got attacked by a coughing fit.

"That's for staying up all night in this weather," his mother concluded.

His father got up loudly, and Matty knew something was wrong.

"What are you doing?!" he yelled in direction of the garden, gesturing with his arms. "Filthy immigrant..."

Matty got up as well and saw a small man in gardener's uniform, paralyzed with giant scissors in his hands and fear in his eyes, which looked directly at Matty's father.

"I told you not. to touch. those plants!!"

The old man stormed off to the garden to continue yelling.

"Matty, sit down," Matty's mother said, all love in her voice gone.

"But he's yelling at him!"

"Didn't want to be yelled at? Should have stayed in his own country."

Matty sighed. He'd had similar conversations with his parents in the past, with no positive outcomes everytime.

He ate for a while, then asked, "Why do you guys keep hiring Latinos if you hate them so much?"

"Well, sweetie, you know we're short on money," his mother answered. She had returned to tenderness. "May it all be for Caroline, right?" she added with a smile.

"When is she coming home?"

"Soon", she said excitedly. "This weekend, probably."

"Great."

"No need to use sarcasm, Matty."

He pursed his lips and nodded.

"As soon as she graduates," his mother added, "you'll get your college fund."

"He needs to get a real job first," Mr. Collins intervened with that stern voice that made Matty's blood turn cold.

"I'm trying, dad," Matty rubbed his forehead.

"Try harder, Matthew."

"Argh!"

Matty had shouted too loud, clenched his fists too hard, and pressed a palm on the right side of his forehead. It was the mention of his original name, picked by his dad against her mom's "Matty" and used at home everytime something was about to go down.

Mr. Collins was staring at him, nearly snarling like a dog.

"Have you finished eating, sweetie?" Mrs. Collins voice came to the rescue.

Matty nodded and ran towards his room, where he locked the door from the inside.

 

Finally home, he thought as he looked around the posters, acoustic and electric guitar and microphone. The colors, red and black, were on the poster-filled walls and ceiling since he was fifteen. Simple Plan, Green Day, Death Cab for Cutie, the All-American Rejects accompanied him in his happiest and saddest moments.

He threw himself over the bed and started thinking about Monica. Was he truly over her? He missed her kisses and time spent in bed, but he didn't know if he still loved her. _Maybe we're not truly over anyone_ , he thought, and terror overcame him, so he tried to focus on happier things. Sergi. _Yes_ , Matty closed his eyes and grinned. Sergi had everything to be hated by Matty, but for some reason Matty liked him. And he had been his first guy. He wouldn't forget that.

 _Pathetic like a teenage girl_ , he thought to himself and rubbed his left eye.

Minutes later, though, he was searching for Sergi's band on his laptop.

Vagrancy were still unsigned, but Matty found their page cool. In the band's photo, Sergi stood in the back, being the tallest. The description read: "Four fags trying to Make Oi Great Again (MOGA)". It made Matty grin. He saw that they had a demo and an Ep, both tagged with "oi" and "queer punk". He clicked on the EP, whose tracklist went as it follows:

1\. Trump's tiny dick

2\. My twink

3\. Acceptance, not tolerance (Iskra's cover)

4\. White genocide

5\. Double-shifting for capitalism

6\. Made in Spain

7\. Coming clean (Green Day cover)

Grinning, Matty clicked on "Trump's tiny dick" and leaned back to listen

_Trump has a tiny dick_

_Trump has a tiny dick_

_Yeah, you better believe it_

 

_Grabbing girls by the pussy_

_that doesn't sound like a man_

_get rekt, get your tiny brain busy_

_getting laid is supposed to be hard_

 

_1,2,3,4 Get fucked!_

 

Matty bought the album, downloaded it and started thinking of the review.

 _This is great_ , he wrote. Then paused. _Keep up the good work._

"Everone writes something like that", he uttered and deleted the text.

_It's the first time that I listen to oi and I have to say, it's awesome._

He smiled again, wrote: _Long live queer punk!_ and saved/sent the review. He then checked if everything was in order in his collection, only to realize it wasn't his but his band's collection. He had just left a review saying "long live queer punk" under What's My Age Again?'s name.

"AAARGH!!!!!!" Matty shouted for the second time that afternoon. He facepalmed hard, throwing his head so far back that he lost balance and fell on his back on top of the computer chair.

He didn't move but groaned in pain, thinking of the consequences. The band would see that he had written _that_ as a review using their name. _Well_ , he thought,  _maybe they won't mind that much. Maybe. The "four fags" part, though... And if they ever mention it when my parents are around... oh God, Charlie, please keep your mouth shut about this._

His mother knocked on his door. He knew it was her because his father would have knocked the thing down without warning.

"Matty! What is happening?!"

"I fell..."

"Off what?!"

Mrs. Collins opened the door.

"Oh my Lord!" she exclaimed upon seeing his son on the floor. "How did this happen, sweetie?"

"I facepalmed too hard," Matty groaned.

"You what?"

"I leaned back on the chair and lost balance."

"My poor baby... Well, get up off there, it'll hurt more."

Matty remembered what was on his laptop screen and in a quick movement that made his entire body ache got up to close it.

 

 

_Always a lady_

_I love Southern ladies_

_They just know how to please_

_It's like connecting the dots_

_Start at the bottom, lick it to the top_

_She goes down_

_She goes down_

_She goes down, down down down_

“Ew", Sergi commented to his bandmates, at one of the last rows.

The whole Vagrancy group sat down on the grass, joining several other unenthusiasts.

"Gotta piss," Ashley said and left towards one of the chemical bathrooms of the festival.

"I can't wait til this is over, mate," Nigel sighed.

"Yeah, it'll be good cash."

Sergi opened the festival's flyer again and re-read the long list of bands:

Hellripper, FM Attack, Lemon Tree, Agnostic Front, Demons & Wizards, We Like Trains, Miscarriage, Lipztick Jungle, Nails, Miami 84, Corvette Cassette...

He stopped. "Jesus, what were they thinking, putting all this jerks together in one place?"

"It's making me homicidal," Nigel commented.

Sergi started chuckling. "It's like putting Venom and Helloween in the same festival..."

"Who?"

Sergi gave him the finger, just in time for Ashley to come back from the bathroom.

"They have free Cheetos on backstage," he announced.

"Cheetos?" his boyfriend said. "Are you a pig?"

"No..." Ashley said, then looked down on his skinny abdomen. "Am I?"

His boyfriend chuckled. "You're fine, babe."

Ashley's cheeks went pink as he smiled, then sat next to his boyfriend and held his hand over the grass. Sergi gagged in jest.

"You need a boyfriend, Sid," Nigel said.

"No, I don't," Sergi snapped. "Can we go to the backstage now? I'm hungry."

"Fine," Nigel grunted and stood up."

They had to walk through the line of bathrooms to get to the backstage area, about sixteen feet behind the stage. Bags of cheetos laid together in a small, round table, just next to the beverages, and there were various tents scattered around. The three young men took one Cheetos bag for each of them.

"I need a drink now," Nigel said as he ate.

Ashley pointed to the sign on the right of the stage that said: "Bring your own liquor". Sergi cackled.

"Yeah, man, you don't wanna offend the straight-edge fags."

Nigel and Ashley cheered that comment with more laughter.

"And the Christians," Ashley added.

"And the vegans," Sergi finished.

The music on stage stopped and the fans cheered as they band said goodbye. A couple of seconds later the five members were coming down and into backstage, wearing black leather and make up. Nigel was covering his mouth as he held his laughter.

The three punks witnessed how security guards gathered around the sign and in a minute there was a queue of girls and soccer moms with backstage passes hanging from their necks. The glam band waited next to the Cheetos table, passing around a Jack Daniels' bottle.

"We never get any groupies," Nigel said from the other side of the table, but his words were muffled by the initial chords of a progressive rock band on stage.

"I prefer a glory hole," Sergi said.

"Whore," Ashley said.

In a minute there were girls and women everywhere taking selfies, kissing and getting things signed by the glam band. Sergi was about to lay down on the grass when he spotted something strange going on in the meet & greet. A different girl, looking Hispanic and big-boned, stood alone as she held her backstage pass. She was trying to get the attention of the leathered boys but they didn't seemed to acknowledge her existance.

While Ashley and Nigel were busy daydreaming with their backs on the grass, Sergi stood up and walked closer to the scene.

"Dave!" the girl shouted and tapped the shoulder of a tall brunette. Dyed hair, Sergi guessed, as blonde roots were visible.

Dave turned around and made a slight grimace the girl didn't seem to notice or mind.

"I'd love a selfie with you," she said, causing the fake brunette to burst into laughter.

"Sorry," he said, "I don't take selfies with fatties."

The girl turned around and ran off. Sergi only caught her heartbrokened face for a second.

"Hey, man!" he waved at Dave, who gave him a head nod. "Have some whisky left?"

Dave walked to where Sergi was standing and handed him the bottle. Then he watched him drink.

"You guys play punk?"

Sergi nodded and burped.

"Cool," Dave said.

The Catalan boy gave him the bottle back and the two stayed there silently for a while. Then Dave spoke:

"Wanna join us over there?" he asked, pointing back at their tent, outside which a couple of girls and his bandmates hung. "We have more JD. And you can do anything you want with the girls, the guards don't care."

"Cool", Sergi said, trying his best to imitate the aloof allure of Danny Zucko from Grease. "Would you save some girls for me?"

Dave smirked. "Now we're talking."

Sergi walked behind Dave like he remembered the T-Birds did in that movie; his shoulders getting plenty of movement and his feet skewed like a duck's. He even started humming "Grease Lightening" without Dave noticing. He was about to giggle when they arrived.

"This is Mark, bassist," Dave introduced.

"Hi," Mark said with a drunken smile.

"This is..."

"Danny Z," Sergi introduced himself proudly. "Singer."

"Cool, awesome..." Mark slurred.

They nodded their heads at each other. Dave picked up a brand new bottle of whisky from the grass and gave it to Sergi, who nearly broke his tooth opening it. He smiled and drank, though, remembering he had to keep up the acting til the end.

He was about to ask about the girls when one of them sat on Mark's lap. With no words exchanged, they started making out heavily, noisely, and in a moment they went inside a yellow tent with a flag that said: Lipztick Jungle.

Sergi had risen his eyebrows and was now drinking from the same whiskey bottle. Little by little.

"First festival?" Dave asked.

"Yep."

"Which band are you on?"

Another girl, a blonde one, approached them. Her eyes went straight to Sergi and he panicked, trying to think of sexy things as fast as he could. Bruce Dickinson. 1986. Bruce in a shower. Now I'm hard.

"Hi!" the girl greeted, unashamedly biting on her lip.

"Hi, babe," Sergi said, and Styx's song "Babe" got into his head.

She grinned and threw her arms at him, effectively starting the make out session.

In the end Sergi only had to kiss and touch two more girls before declaring he was tired and sitting on the grass again.

"Alright," Dave said with another girl on her lap. "Help yourself with some of our vodka."

"Okay," Sergi slurred. He was pretending to be more drunk than he actually was.

"Hey," Mark called from the other chair. "Aren't those the straight-edge guys?"

Sergi looked where Mark was looking and spotted a band of skinny young men with tattooed arms and short, emo hair.

"Yeah," Sergi chuckled. "xAngstx".

"Dude, you don't have to pronounce the exes."

"Right," Sergi kept on laughing.

He stared thinking of what would Nigel and Ashley think of what he was doing there with the glam rockers and all those girls, but brushed it off as he visuslized the glorious outcome of his plan. Besides, Vagrancy was the last act to play, so they'd go home soon.

Neither Mark nor Sergi said anything until Dave had finished with his girl.

"I'm whipped," the fake brunette declared. His make up was ruined by now. "Have some vodka, Danny?"

"Yeah," Sergi passed him the bottle. Then he turned to Mark, but he was already snoring.

Dave and Sergi chatted, seemingly for a long time, about inconsequential male topics. Slowly, though, Sergi started deviating those topics towards not-so-macho ones.

"Hey, have you ever jacked off another dude?" he asked Dave.

"No way, man! The fuck is wrong with you?"

"My cousin did it for 200 bucks. He bought band merch."

Dave laughed. "So you're saying, if it's for a lot of money it's okay?"

Sergi tilted his head. "Well... how much would you ask for sticking your dick in a bee hive?" Dave arched his eyebrows and laughed, but Sergi continued. "It can be as much money as you want."

"Alright... As much as I want, right?"

"Yeah".

"Uh... Three million dollars."

"Hahaha... Nice choice. Because that's more than you'd paid for your medical bill". They laughed together, then Sergi looked at Dave. "Hey, blow me for a thousand. Seriously."

"You _have_ a thousand?"

"Yeah, I stole it from the flea market." Sergi tapped his jean pocket.

"Hmmm..." Dave tapped his chin. "Could really use the cash...."

Sergi was salivating. "Is that a yes?"

Dave touched his chin. "No touching, though," he said, firm but nervous. "No kissing, and you cum on the fucking ground."

"Cum on the ground," Sergi raised a hand in oath.

"And you don't say a word to anybody."

"Of course not! You think I want people to think I'm a fag?"

Dave seemed calmer after Sergi's promises, but quickly started to look around the festival's crowd. "Alright, coast is clear."

They got inside the yellow tent and Dave zipped it close.

 

 

"Oh, oh, fuuuuck!" Sergi cried in ecstasy and shut his eyes. "Not bad for a noobie," he panted.

Dave was too drunk and too busy below Sergi's waist to answer. And if he hadn't be so aroused, Sergi would have laughed at the imagery of it all. Him and a glam guy, with lipstick and all, inside a hot tent. Vince Neil would be proud, he thought as a painful moan escaped his lips.

"No teeth, please," he instructed Dave, who could merely hum with a busy mouth.

Sergi tried not to lose his mind, tried to keep it focused, so he opened his eyes. Playing with Dave's long hair, he ducked just enough to reach for his phone, which he unlocked with masterful finger coordination. He tapped on the camera icon, made sure to pick the back camera, pressed the recording button and pointed the phone down at Dave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics for "Trump's tiny dick" are mine. The other lyrics are Mötley Crüe's "She Goes Down."


End file.
